

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



































































































































































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4 





" N 

* V‘ E . P. 
39. West 


E W V O R K 
DUTTON 
Twenty Third 


& C 9 
Str e et . 












\ 





39, West Twrntwiukd Strew, 




/ 






PROLOGUE. 


* 

p 



When the pavements are baking, the streets all aglare, 
And every one panting and gasping for air, 

When the last patch^aof % g$ass is all dusty and brown, 
O to be anywhere out of the' 1 town : 

Away from the bustle, the jostle, and jams, 

The bands and the ’busses, tire cabs and the trams, 
.The bawling and calling, the r.u"sft up and down — 
Anywhere, anywhere out of the town. 

Just to lie all the day in the grass by a stream, 

With the noises of town like a far-away dream ; 

With the low of the cows, and the hum of the flies, 
(That is, if they keep from your nose and your eyes), 
With some nice little children to sing and to play, 

At a suitable distance, three meadows away ; 

While the sole morning callers (O freedom from ills) 
Are the dicky-bird-duns with their dear little bills. 


When the summer is over and rain has begun, 

And there’s plenty of fog, and but little of sun ; 

When the grass is too damp and the leaves at their fall, 
And the dicky-birds’ songs are beginning to pall ; 

When Mudie’s last volume is closed with a sigh, 

And there’s much that you’re wanting, and nothing to buy ; 
Don’t fancy you like it, don’t stay there and frown, 

But pack your portmanteau, and go back to town. 


CONTENTS . 



the echo of the song, 2. 

ANGELICA AP-JONES , 18. 




IN THE WOODS, 24. 

MOTHER'S BLESSING, 




PROLOGUE, 6. 7. 


RAGGED ROBIN, 22. 23. 
THE 10 . NG AVENUE, 25. 




MV LADY'S CLOTHES, 10. n. 12. 

TIMOTHY TOMKINS TUCK , 26. 





CONTENTS . 



WIND AND SUNSHINE , 34, 35. 


TWO O'CLOCK , , 48. 


GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR , 49. 

KISSING TIME , 50, 51. 'IT,! 





GENTLEMAN JOHN, 36, 37. 

THE FROG'S PHILOSOPHY , 52, 53. 


^/F TURN NEXT , 38, 39. 

DOROTHY DUNN , 54, 55. 





/v/ THER'S BOA T, 42, 43. 

THE DOLLS' SEASON, 58, 59. 



RAKE'S CONFESSION, 44, 45. 

THE TALE OF THE SEA, 60,61. 




TO A GOOSE, 46, 47. 




MY LADY’S CLOTHES. 

“Noyr what do you think of my lady’s clothes 
* My lady’s clothes, 

My lady’s clothes, 

What do you think of mydaciy’.S clothes, 

For a summer day in" the morning? 7 ’' 

My grandmother once wore clothes like, those, 
TlX Clothes like those, 

Clothes like .those, 

My grandmother once wore clothes like those, 
When she went out in the morning* 

“Did ever ypu see such frills and bdws, 

Frills and bows, $ 
Frills and. bows, 

Did ever you see such fhrbetows 

T ' For a summer day in ..the morning ? ” 

O my grandmother once. >vas d.rest like that,, 
Brest like that, 

Brest tike that, 

With a very short waist and a coal-box hat, 
When she went out in the morning. 




10 


V# 










12 



jSucK Thumb. 

'V/hO 3TANDS HERE ? 

J^ITTEE 5 a MMY 3 uCK-HI^“ , J'hU|V1B 

"With a nail, | fea^, 

]4e 3UF(ELY MU3T HAVE 

JStUCK HI3 THUMB 

*Qr WHEJSf He’3 QOT 

JMice PUDDINQ HOT, 

]4e 3URELY WOULD JMOT 
3 U C K HI3 THUMB. 

JJo, 3 ir , no, 

|t 13 not 30 ; 

He H A3 NOT HURT OR 
} \ 

3>TUCK HI3 THUMB : 

JIe 3 IMPLY 13 

ft 3ULKY BOY», 

,3 vYhO- REALLY LIKE3 
Jo 3UCK HI3 
THUMB. 



13 






Tumble down Dick he could not go straight, 

Brushed his hair with a coal-box and always was late, 
Put his head thro’ the windows and sat in the doors, 


Thought the ceiling to walk on far better than floors. 


So some one suggested this odd little elf 
Had better go build him a house to himself, 

Where his head might be broken, his fingers be squeezed, 
And the doors be as crooked as ever he pleased. 

So he took his wheelbarrow* and spade in his hand, 

And built him a tumble-down house on the sand ; 

And Tumble-down Dick in his tumble-dow r n house, 

For five minutes at least, was as still as a mouse. 

O Tumble-down Dick, alack ! well-a-day, 

The tide came in quickly and w*ashed it away, 

And all that was left there, w^as one little stick 
To tell the disaster of Tumble-dowrn Dick. 



'I 



^UT 30MEB0DY TELL3 ME 

]4e’3 turned up aqain : 

^As F(E3TLE33 A$ evefl 

l NEED NOT EXPLAIN ; 

^UT HE ’3 FA$T QROWINQ FAMOU3, 

; And WEALTHY, AND QF^AND, 
]Fof^ they’ve MADE him the 

BUILDER OF 

JUMBLE-DOWN-LAND. 


x 5 


\K:.: 



fc 

I 

f 



ft. 




BLUE BELL WOOD. 

i'ch is the way to Blue Bell Wood? 

To Blue Bell Wood ? 
To Blue Bell Wood?” 
131 tell you the way, if you’ll be good, 
To Blue Bell Wood in the morning. 

•If ydu will simply see next page, 

.S^e next page, 

• See next page, 

You’ll find the ])lue bells, 111 engage, 
In Blue Bell Wood in the morning. 


“If you please, kind sir, and how do you know? 
How do you know? 

How do you know? 

Because the children told me so 
As I came by in the morning. 


“And will, the' children be there still? 

Be there still? 

Be there still ? ” 

I cannot tell, but I think they will, 

In Blue Bell Wood in the morning. 


16 

















_ ANGELICA AP-JONES. 

SJ^crab was he of high degree, she. met him on the strand, 

GootJ^t^hfiftg, little miss,” said he, and offered her his hand. 
I’m not a little miss,” she said, in most indignant tones ; 

“ My name is Miss Angelica — Angelica Ap-Jones.” 



With that, a dark, deep hole she made upon the shining strand, 
And put the crab in with her spade, and covered him with sand; 
She put him in, she piled it high and heaped it up with stones, 
And danced upon it furiously — Angelica Ap-Jones. 


“ O let me out,” the crab did pray, “ I die, if here I stop ; ” 
But wildly still Angelica kept dancing on the top. 

“ O let him out,” a lobster said, “ you’ll rue it if you don’t ; ” 
She only whacked him with her spade, and shouted, “No, I won’t.” 


And fainter grew the pleading tones, and higher rose the sea, 
While Miss Angelica Ap-Jones kept dancing heedlessly ; 

It rose, it rose above her toes, it rose up to her chin, 

Alack, alack, the piteous plight Angelica was in. 

& ^3 ^ 



r8 



Jhe moral of 

HARD TO UNDE-RJSTAJMD : 

WD LOBJSTE^ 
THEM ON THE £AND ] 

THEM FURIOUSLY, Jon’t 

‘pR YOU 

jVlyAY QET 

J.1 KE ^AnQELICA 


THI£ 

£TOF(Y |S NOT 

Jon’t BURY CRAB£ 
'V/hen YOU MEET 

Pojm’t dance upon 

COVER THEM 

WITH £TONE£, 

j\ DUCKINQ, 

c A p "J°NEj&. 


19 


_ -rS 

l iabTrfER’S BLESSING. 

ou left me in my cot, mother, 
wu You think I’m safe and sound ; 

^gut indeed, indeed, I’m not, mother, 
p I’m crawling on the ground. 

I’m in among the coals, mother, 

I’ve blacked my face all o’er ; • 

The ‘kettle must have holes, mother, 

• V. J* 9 ... * r . 

It’s streaming on the floor. 

& So hang out the clothes, mother, 
Hang out the clothes ; 

* .*:*•- Don’t let the dicky bird 

Bite off your nose. 

The fire is getting low, mother, 

I’ve got some matches here, 

£ t soon shall make it go, mother, 

You’ll find it bright and clear, 
i I’ve det the chickens out, mother, 

And, pussy’s with them now; 

VVhati can they be about, mother? 
.^b^y’re making such a row. 

So hang out the clothes, mother, 
Hang out the clothes ; 

Don’t let the dicky bird 
Bite off your nose. 



20 








22 



^Ah, WHO CAJM TELL US WHY? 

f ^yY E M U £T LEAVE THE RIDDLE ALONE 
|3 ut DO NOT LET HIM QO BY, 

ji E HAS A HEAF(T LIKE YOUF( OWN. 

‘GjlVE HIJVI A LITTLE LOVE, 

And his life will be les3 SOF(E. 

’JlS THE SAME HEAVEN y\BOVE, 

JiIE2 FOR YOU BOTH IN jSTOF(E, 

J-HZ EAQLE TO HIS LOFTY J^IEST - 
Jhe 2EA-QULL TO THE FOAM 

Jhi 2 wof^ld 13 f^AGQED Robin’s f^est: 

|3uT JMOT, BUT NOT, HIS HOjVIE ! 


23 





IN THE WOODS. 

n the heart of the town 
The streets are ringing, 
And many the toiling 
And weary feet ; 

But deep in the woods 
The birds are singing, 
And all is peaceful 
And pure and sweet. 


Back to the town, 

To the din and shadows, 
With a peace that passes 
The power of w r ords, 

I carry the breath 

Of the country meadows, 
And deep in my heart 
The song of the birds. 




24 



THE LONG AVENUE. 


Down the long avenue, down the long avenue, 
Children at play in the morning sun ; 

They have no fear for the fast-coming years, 
Not a sigh of regret for what is gone. 

Down the long avenue, down the long avenue, 
Striving of labour and rush of feet, 

While hand in hand the young lovers stand, 
Lnheeding it all in their dreamings sweet. 

Down the long avenue, down the long avenue 
Slowly together the old folks roam, 

Life it is sweet to their tottering feet, 

For it tenderly leads to a peaceful home. 

Life is an avenue, life is an avenue, 

Strife in it, peace in it, shade and sun ; 

Heav’n give us rest in the land that is best, 
When all of our wearyful days are done. 


jf 







25 







V > ” 

TIMOTHY 





A 


A 


TOMKINS TUCK. 


young Timothy Tomkins Tuck 
(TfiStKis, if you’ll “ see next page ”), 

A British yo^th of excellent pluck, 

If not of , vefy great age. 

0 Timothy Tomkins Tuck, 

1 sincerely admire your pluck ; 

I wish we’d a few 
More fellows like you, 

Timothy Tomkins Tuck ! 

Now in spite of Timothy’s innocejnt looks, . 

He is fond of annoying a fly, 

And of tying a string round a cockchafer’s wing 
And poking a pussy-cat’s eye. 

0 Timothy Tomkins Tuck, 

1 sincerely admire your pluck 
The world has so few 
Brave fellows like you, 

Timothy Tomkins Tuck. 

A couple of ducks came over a field, 

A very fat couple were they ; 

Said. Timothy Tuck ’twere excellent luck* 

To have them for dinner to-day. - 

But Timothy Tomkins Tuck, 

You never will shoot?" a dtick 
Unless you have got 
A gun and some shot, 

Timothy Tomkins, Tuck. 

- ' 

Said the ducks with a wink, I really don’t think 
Master Tomkins will catch us to-day,” 

And all he ccruld do w r as just to say “Shoo,” 
While they merrily" waddled &w'£ty. 

So Timothy Tomkins 'Tuck 
Went home without a duck, ^ 
And as for the rest, 

He’ll tell it you best, 

Timothy Tomkins Tuck ! 




27 


. 

f Wh 



f>MEXA. 

•Pretty little pa met a, 


•pAUJSINQ ON 

THE 

BRINK, 

Tears to wet her 

PETTICOAT^, 

{Stops awhile 

to think; 

Meditates 

AND 

PONDER3-, 

yUF(NS AND TU F^N3 

y\BOUT 


JlLL HIQH AND 

DRY 

13 PAMELA 

j^ND THE 

TIDE 

13 OUT. 


28 


— 1 — 


V- 




PAMELA. 


111m 


So it was, when to her side 
Many a wooer stept, 

Pamela was prudent, 

Looked before she leapt , 

Looked so very long, in fact, 
Paused and pondered on, 

That high and dry was Pamela, 
And the lovers gone. 

When she used to paddle, 

Is thirty years ago ; 

Pamela is altered 
Very much, you know; 

Much objects to paddling, 

Cannot stand a noise ; 

If there’s one thing she detests 
• It’s little girls and boys : 

Looks upon them half, in fact, 

As crocodiles or whales ; 

Never gives them bread and jam. 
Never tells them tales ; 

Thinks they ought to be at school, 
Always still and trim, 

For Pamela, the prudent, 

Is Pamela, the prim ! 





29 



pL!/,1B ALONQ, T 1 JVt E ALOJNQ, 

jSwEET pAI^Y p 1 LL ? 
yCu’EL £OON BE ALL £AFE AT THE 

JOP OF THE HILL. 


30 



DAISY DILL. 



limb along, time along, sweet Daisy Dill, 

Tis a long way to the top of the hill, 

And the road is so rough, and the sun in the skies 
Makes little Daisy Dill blink her blue eyes. 

But climb along, time along, sweet Daisy Dill, 

Youlk soon be all safe at the top of the hill. 


Climb along, time along, sweet Daisy Dill, 

Now she’s at last at the top of the hill ; 

Tired ! yes, of course she is ; glad just to rest, 
And look back to the valley she’s left in the west 
Tired ! but it’s worth it, my sweet Daisy Dill, 

To be really at last at the top of the hill. 


And life, like your journey, my sweet. Daisy Dill, 
a very long pull up a very steep hill, 

And some reach the top and some of us never, 
Although we go toiling and struggling for ever ; 

Never mind ; we’ll still struggle ; ’tis far better so 
Than to die in a ditch in the valley below. 


31 







THE CHILDREN’S VOICES. 

aily sound the children’s voices, 
Homeward from the hills they go, 
Bearing many a flower to brighten 
Yonder nestling homes below. 


Breast high thro’ the waving bracken, 
Gaily down the fields they run, 
Like a band of dancing fairies 
Floating from a morning sun. 


Came the children to the churchyard, 
Little lips .no more can sing, 

For they stood where one was lying 
Who had played with them last Spring. 


Then they twined their flowers together, 
Gazed, and kissed them o* er and o’er ; 


Laid them on the little headstone, 
Saying, “ IVe can gather more ! ” 



33 





Plow, wind, blow,, 

^Mother's cap's A'Wfsy : 
3h!NE, J3HINE, PaBY -MIJYE. 

3 U piSH I [ME . BY-AND-BY. 


tm 


*m IS 




m* 


34 


WIND AND SUNSHINE. 


/ 


Blow, wind, blow ! 

Wind across the shore; 
Father’s waiting, 

Baby mirngv 
Waiting %t the 'door ! 

: V- 


Blow, wind, blow\ 

All ."the world’s awry ; 
Soon or late ; 

’ r fwill all be straight, 
Sunshine by-and-by. . 
Nothing hurts, 

Nothing harms, 

All in vain 

The world’s alarms. 

Need we fear 

For rain or shine ? 

God above and father near, 
Baby mine ! 










35 







I 






% 






GENTLEMAN JOHN. 

ou’ve only a fustian coat, my lad, 

You sleep upon straw, maybe ; l ™ 

When my lord goes by, it makes you sad, 

You want to be rich as he. 

’You hate to be called a son of the soil, 

You’d like to be gentleman born ; 

Never to want and never to toil, 

And never go tattered and torri. 

But broadcloth or fustian, what you’ve got on, 
Never will make you a gentleman, John. 



-?’ lis not the honest brown dirt, my lad, 

Makes a man’s hand unclean ; 

’I is what he does that is base and bad, 

’Lis what is cruel and mean. 

Don’t be ashamed of your coat or your toil, 

Each has his work to do, T, . 

Loyally, faithfully stick to the soil, 

And you’ll be a gentleman^tyo. 

’I’is what you have in you, not what you have on, 
That ever will make you a gentleman, John. 


37 





MY TURN NEXT. 

. * ■to*?** _ . ■ ' ‘ 

’Tis sad, but oh, ’tisiftrue indeed, 
When Alec swings he ; . will not heed 
Two little eyes and lips that plead— 
“ My turn- next.” 

When Doctor Whackem gets his cane, 
And calls up little Tommy Payne, 
Augustus knows — the truth is plain — 
His turn next. 

.When baby has some jam at night, 
With something from a packet white, 
Miss Mabel understands it quite — 
Her turn next. 

Ah, little ones ! with us ’tis so, 

We know that soon we all must go : 
And so we wonder, whispering low — 

“ Whose turn next ? ” 



\) I 



39 



f^IPE 3'fR^W BERRIES. 

Three little maidens, 

jAs I’ve heard tell. 

Jhey went to market. 

$T RAW3ERRIES TO SELL ! 

^-Y.HEjM -THEY CAME TO MARKET 

They hadn’t much to sell 

|5eCAUSE THEY’D EATEN EVERY ONE,' 

; AS I’VE HEARD TELL. 


40 






. 'Qarland Pay. 

]'h£ . FIRST OF -M.AV 

Is QARLAND DAY. 
pLEAQE TO REMEMBER 

The. qarland. 

•We don’t COjVIE HERE 

pUT ONCE A YEAR; 
•jpLEAQE TO REJvlEMBEQ 

]'he qarlajmd.. 


FATHER’S BOAT. 


Sea-gull, sea-gull, answer me, 

Have you seen father’s boat at sea ? 

How should I know your father s boat 
From all the many I see afloat ? 

Sea-gull, sea-gull, easy quite, 

There’s mothei&^riame on the bows in white ; 
And whether her sails are set or furled, 

She’s the smartest -craft in all the world. 

x;v • 

Sea-gull, sea-ghli, answer me, 


Have you seen - father himself at sea ? 


<9, how should I your:* father know 
From all the folk in your world belouf l 


Sea-gull, sea-gull, ’tis easy quite, 


There’s a lock of his hair just turning white. 


You’d find his face ’mid fifty score, 


’Tis the dearest face the whole world ’ 




\ 


42 




) 




RAKE’S CONFESSION. 



x>if>N’T t^ke it, indeed, not l ; 

story ; I’ll tell you why. 


I J’ by the larder, Miss, all by myself 

And' I /saw a fowl on the larder shelf. 


y i 

I j^epfed thro’ the door, and I said to Myself, 

“ Don’t you think that’s a fowl on the larder shelf ? ” 

\ K C, • ■■ 

A . , 

“ There’s notv tfe&, least doubt of it,” answered Myself ; 
“ It’s a very fat fowl on the larder shelf.” 


“ Well there, never mind it,” said I to Myself ; 
“Come away, and don’t look at the larder shelf.” s 


So I ran off at once, Miss ; but somehow Myself, | 
When / wasn’t looking, climbed up to the shelf. 


But I caught him and scolded that wicked Myself ; 

“Come down, sir,” I told him, “come down from the shelf.” 





But he would not obey me, that wicked Myself, 
For he eat all the fowl on the larder shelf. 


44 


t 







JpUT 


■HE- WOULD 


(NOT 


• • • 9 * 

'pBE-Y jVIE, THAT . WICKED 


^YgELF, 


' "pOR ; HE 


EAT 


ALL 


]HE • jpOWL • OF TH £ 


| * . 

JL/\rder. : shelf 


45 




“ BO ” TO A GOOSE. 

Adolphus Jones had once been told, 
And thought it proper, too, 

“ Whene’er maybe a goose you see, 
Say, ‘ Bo, goose, Bo to you.’ ” 


Adolphus Jones he took a walk 
Upon a summer’s day, 

When Farmer Spruce’s biggest goose 
Ventured to stop the way. 

Adolphus Jones, that clever child, 
Remembered what to do ; 

In valiant haste the gobse 'he f&ced, 
And shouted, “ Bo to.,*yoiL^ 



V 




Adolphus Jones, that dauntless child, 
Cried “ Bo ” with might and main ; 
But as the goose stood still and smiled, 
He ' shouted, “ Bo ” again 

u I’ve never seen you,” said the goose ; 

“You are I don’t know who; 

But if, you know, it comes to ‘ Bo,’ 

I can say ‘ Bo ’ to you. 

• “Tor all I care you are a hare, 

A monkey, or emu ; 

But this I know, I can say ‘ Bo ’ 

As easily as you.” 


Adolphus soon will wiser be, 

And learn this truth to tell ; 

That folks whom you call geese, you see, 
May think you geese as well. 


46 





TWO O’CLOCK. 


ing a song of two o’clock, 
Tadpoles in a pool, 
Four-and-twenty lazy boys 
Droning in a school. 


V 


Sing a song of three o’clock, 
Master is not there, 
Four-and-twenty little boys 
Fighting for his chair. 



48 






GRANDFATHER’S CHAIR. 

randfather talks to his little ones sweet, 

As he sits in his old oak chair. 

Two on his knees, and three at his feet, 

Tenderly stroking their hair. 

Holding their little fat hands in his own, 

Smiling so soft and mild, 

Telling them stories of years long flown, 

When he was a child. 

Grandfather’s chair is empty now, 

In the churchyard grandfather lies, 

Cold and still is his gentle brow, 

Closed are his sweet blue eyes. 

The little ones stand with a wistful air, 

Round the fire as eve draws on, 

And whisper and point to his empty chair, 

“ Grandfather’s gone ! ” 

Grandfather’s chair is empty still, 

Empty is each one’s heart ; 

Changed is the old home under the hill, 

And the children are far apart. 

And all are grown, and some are asleep, 

For swift have the years fled on, 

But the words have their old fond yearning deep 
“ Grandfather’s gone ! ” 



— 





49 




“ *¥/ hat’s o'clock, sweet ? " 

Said •V/illie at the qate. 

“ ]4aLF"PAST KISglflQ-TIME, 
j5o YOU ARE ) U-pT TOO LATE." 






5 ° 





1 " 


KISSING-TIME. 


argery sat in the lane alone, 

A “shepherd’s clock’ 1 she blew ; 

And “one,” she cried, and “two,” she cried 
As down the petals flew. 

“ What’s o’clock, sweet Margery ? ” 

Said Willie at the gate:* 

“ Half-past kissing-time, 

So you are just too late ” p 

“ Half-past kissing-time ? ” 

Said Willie, sore downcast ; 

“1 don’t believe your clock is right — 

It goes a deal too. fast.” 

And taking her sweet hand in his, 

And picking up the flow’r, 

He showed her how to put it back 
Exactly half an hour. 

But that is fifty years ago, 

They both are old folks now ; 

They love to saunter down the lane, 
Where first they made their vow. 

Those quaint old words, they linger still, 
But w r ith a sweeter sound ; 

’Tis never “ Half-past kissing-time ” 

While love’s true wheels go round. 




51 



YOU • WARK IjMTO MY BASKET?’"’ 

jS AID jpANNY TO THE F^OQ ] 

' U |’VE . j'U£T ‘COJVIE BACK FROjVl MARKET, 

*AnD THE. BA^KET'3- fuel of PROQ.” * 

“Jt DEPEJ^Dq UPOjM THE MARKET,” 
l Gj.RAVELY OBSERVED' THE ,F^OQ. 


52 






53 



54 



l 



DOROTHY DUNN. 



Who will marry me, who’s the man? 
Timothy, Zachary, Peter, or Dan? 

Timothy’s forward, and Zachary shy, 
And Peter’s nose it goes all awry ; 
^ Whjje as for Dan, I don’t think I can^, 
jMarry an ugly and elderly man. 


But somehow or other the lovers don’t come, 

And Dorothy twiddles her finger and thumb ; 
Zachary swings all the day on a gate, 

And Peter is trying to make his nose straight ; 
While as for Dan, he is off to Japan, 

Where the ladies declare he’s a charming old man. 

!// 



\ 

y 



And Timothy courts all the ladies but one, 

And that one is particular Dorothy Dunn ; 

If you asked him the reason, he’d say ’twas because 
Miss Dorothy is not as sweet as she was ; k 

While as for Miss D., she sa^ With defiance, XW* 

That in man she had ne’er put the slightest reliance. 5 


55 



mm 


pA'^IEg. 

I HAVE A FF^IEjMD WHOM I DETEST, 

]4e drives me nearly cf^a^y; 

]4 E ASKS ME WHICH £ LIKE THE BEST, 

^ BUTTERCUP OR DAISY ; 

; /\ND AM I FOND OF CRUST OF( • CF(UMB, 
MARRIED MAN OR SINGLE; 

^ND DO I LIKE A THUNDEF^INQ DF^UM , 

^Qr LOVE A- PLAINTIVE jIJ'IQLE 


56 






|3 UTTEf^CU PS- 

'^AjsfD AM l POOF(, OR AM I RICH, 

ft Radical of^ Tory ? 

] REALLY don’t Kf^OW WHICH IS WHICH, 

'And DARE NOT TELL A stof^y. 


‘Qood 

3IR,” 

l PAY, 

“ DO 

EET ME REST ; 




YOU PE3TER 

AJMD YOU 

BORE 

30 : 

JLOVE 

THEjVI 

EVERY 

ONE 

THE BE3T, 





"And 

EACH 

A L ITT EE 

MORE 

30. 


57 




DOLLS’ SEASON. 


o ! set* .the bells' ringing,” 

;%e, dollies were? singing ; 

“ We are all of >u^ gs)ing to town, 
With roses, - 

s And daffydowril^fli^y 


Apd! each in a silken gown. 




|; Of the woods - We are weary, 
v ^ Ji'he country is dreary, 

1'is ^desolate, * dusty, and brown ; « 
i We long for society’s • ^ 

Charming .varieties, 

'*"• We are sure to be first in the town, v# 


Tne style -rdf our dresses 
Is fit for princesses ; 

’Twill make the folks jealous in town, 
With our roses and lilies, 

And daffydowndillies, 

And each in a silken gown. 

“ O, my sawdust is beating,” 

They all kept repeating ; 

Our lovers will love at first sight; 

I feel in my stitches 
The sweetest of twitches ; 

Am melting with rapture and light.” 


The season was closing, 

The dolls lay reposing 
In tears on a lumber-room floor ; 

No voices, no laughter 
From basement to rafter, 

And shut was each window and door. 



58 




JN THE DUjST A ND THE ^H/VDOWS 

JhEY EONQED f()r[ THE M EADOWjS, 
jAND the wood3 where they ONCE WEF(E at 

play ; 


^UT NO ONE RELENTED, 

In VAIN THEY REPENTED, 

'pOF^ THEIR pAWDUET W A3 EBB1NQ /.WAY. 


59 



THE TALE OF THE SEA. 



hat is the tale of it, mother, mother ? 
What is the tale of the wide, wide sea ? 
Merry and sad are the tales, my darling,. 
Merry and sad as tales must be. 

#Those ships that sail in the happy mornings, 
Full of the lives and the souls of men, 
Some will never 'come back, my darling, 
Some will never come back again. 


Where are they gone, O mother, mother f ^ 
Why is it cruel, the wide, wide sea..? 

Tears and smiles ^.re our lot, my darting, 
Shadow and sun in the world: must be. 
They hear no longer the loud Waves beating, 
They feel no longer the cold, cold foam, 
They sleep as sweet in the sea, my darling, 
As you in your little bed at home. 





Will it be so for ever, mother, 

That friends must sever and tears must fall ? 

Not for ever, my child, for ever, 

This world is not the end of all. 

All will be changed, the earth and ocean, 

We know not how and we know not when, 

But those who have loved in this world, my darling, 
Will meet in that world and be happy then ! 



60 




HAT 13 THE TALE OF IT, MOTHER, 

OTHER 

A/y'HAT 13 THE TALE. OF THE WIDE, 

WIDE SEA ? 


'jVtEF^KY 

AND 

SAD 

. 



A HE 

THE TALES. MV C A F(LI N Q 

'jVlERRY 

AfMD. 

SAD. 

AS . TALES 

• 



‘ MUST BE*. 


6t 



REST. 

There was sunlight falling through old green trees, 

Where the birds sang all day long; 

And the flow’rs were trembling in ecstasies, 

— The?e is no joy but song. 

Tliere were two that wandered the woods along, 

{ Where 'the green boughs waved above, 

And their hearts gave back to the birds their song, 

' ■ 

. V . — There is no joy but love. 


There was moonlight over the silent sea 
There was calm on vale and hill ; 
'But the old graveyard slept peacefully 
In a hush that was deeper still. 


There were closed eyes in the quiet earth, 

' j There were hands on the sleeping breast j 

No more sorrow, and no more mirth, 

— There is no joy but rest. 



- 




62 





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